This is a Really Real Mental Health post.

I’m super fucking down on myself right now.

So many voices running around in my head telling me I’m fat and lazy.

And useless.

I feel like I’ve fallen back into the pit that was my life before Parker died.

I’m just existing until I die, I’m not really living.

I can’t really find my way out of the pit because I’m too tired to do anything.

I need a haircut.

I

need

a haircut.

I’ve rescheduled it 5 times in the last week.

This time it’s rescheduled for Sunday.

But it’s so hard to find the line between pushing and accepting.

There’s obviously something wrong.

I’m fighting to get out of bed.

I’m fighting to stay out of bed.

Every time I say that, I hear my dad’s voice in the back of my head . . .

“Don’t try to do it, just do it.”

And I wonder why I can’t

“just do it.”

I feel like I’m just not trying hard enough.

Like I’m just making excuses.

Like I’m just being fat and lazy.

I remember my dad regularly waking me up with squirt guns because he felt like I slept to much.

I remember the time he dumped a bucket of ice water over my head because I slept in.

Tired=lazy.

Lazy=useless.

Maybe this is just depression.

Maybe I just need to fight harder.

Beat myself up a little more.

None of it makes sense right now.

—

I had a harsh memory earlier.

I’ve always been really open with my struggles.

My mental health,

my physical health.

I remember being really open about my hidradenitis back when Parker was alive.

Talking about the sores and where they were.

And Parker said “Do you really have to be so open about that?”

It embarrassed her.

I talk about this stuff, mental and physical, to try and shine light into all the dark spaces.

To try and combat the shame that comes from keeping quiet.

The more I feel like I need to hide something,

the more important it is that I talk about it.

Right now I’m tired.

And I’m tired of being tired.

And I hope I get some answers soon.